She was a crazy angel. A crazy angel-optician.
Connie laughed. You dont know anything about me. Why the fuck should you want to help a complete stranger?
Nathan stared at her intently. He hadnt expected her to swear. Shed surprised him.
But you think I might consider helping an optician?
In a flash he was flirting. It was out of character.
I dont know. Perhaps. Its been hell for me, too, she said, apropos of nothing, not smiling any more, but suddenly tragic. Nathan was taken aback. Tragedy, at this juncture, was the last thing hed expected. His spine straightened. She was slick.
And because she was slick she saw how her change in tone had affected him. Nathan withdrew again, into himself. She felt a deep frustration. She didnt want to manipulate. She simply wanted to come clean. The way I see it, Nathan, she said curtly, were in pretty much the same position. You dont want to encounter your brother again and I have no particular desire to see him. I simply have an obligation to fulfil.
Nathan nodded, but his voice was tight. You said in your letter that your father had died.
Connie winced. She was still raw.
Five months ago.
And he had some kind of a relationship with my brother?
He was involved in a committee, a government committee that was drawing up a report on prison reform. He was a barrister, originally. He did all this charitable stuff after he retired. Anyhow, he met a wide selection of prisoners during the enquiry and he must have met your brother at some point, because they became acquainted. They became friends.
Why did he do that?
Nathan was talking to himself. Connie didnt understand. Why did he do what?
Why did he befriend Ronny? Ronny doesnt understand Nathan corrected himself. I mean he didnt understand. About friendship. I still get hate letters. From total strangers. Ive not seen him for almost ten years. Ive moved house twice. But still they find me.
Thats scary.
Yes it is.
Connie had stopped glowing. When shed come in shed been glowing. But not now. She looked tired. Washed out.
The point is, she said, my father saw fit to leave Ronny a bequest in his will. Money, basically. A nice amount.
A nice amount. Nathan parroted, aimlessly.
Connies eyes tightened. Do you want to know how he died?
She was suddenly vengeful, like she needed to prove something. Her tragedic legitimacy, her righteousness. Nathan said nothing.
He was waiting on the platform at Gravesend station for my mother. Shed been to Cheltenham races for the day with her lover. He was standing too close to the edge. Someone opened their carriage door before the train had slowed down. It hit him like a hammer. It killed him.
Im sorry.
We were very close.
Connie rubbed her hands together, like her fingers were cold or her knuckles stiff.
But not close enough she faltered. I wasnt close enough to know anything about Ronny. Nor did my mother for that matter. And it actually felt kind of creepy. Especially when we found out that he was in prison, and then, shortly after, that hed absconded. It felt sort of
Im sorry.
We were very close.
Connie rubbed her hands together, like her fingers were cold or her knuckles stiff.
But not close enough she faltered. I wasnt close enough to know anything about Ronny. Nor did my mother for that matter. And it actually felt kind of creepy. Especially when we found out that he was in prison, and then, shortly after, that hed absconded. It felt sort of
Her eyes scanned the carpet near her feet, as though she might see the word she sought enmeshed in its fibres. Instead she saw only an empty wineglass, an ashtray, a tea stain and, poking out from under the sofa, a slip of paper. She focused on this as she completed her sentence. It felt almost threatening.
For the first time during the interview Nathan felt pity for the girl. He imagined that before this trouble her life had been smooth and shiny as new Tupperware. It was no wonder she was shaken. He cleared his throat. If I were you Id forget about the money. Ronny was never particularly materialistic.
Connie remained unmollified. Unfortunately its a legal matter, not a private one. A large portion of the money Dad bequeathed was tied up in my practice, which has left me in a slightly tricky position
Nathan could see how this might be the case. As a kid Ronny always broke things, he said, appearing to marvel in the memory of it. I mean, he never grew attached to anything. He had no interest in money.
He broke things? Connies voice was an echo, she wasnt listening, she was trying to figure out what the slip of paper said. She saw an R and an O, an N and an N.
For some reason Nathan felt a touch of anxiety. Not aggressively. It was never an aggressive act. Nothing like that.
Actually, Id really like you to see something.
Connie put her hand into a leather satchel shed been carrying and withdrew a bundle of letters. She removed a ribbon that tied them together. She offered them to Nathan.
What are they? He stared at them fearfully, as if they might spit or bite or combust. As though they stank.
Ronnys letters.
I already said that I have no interest in Ronnys letters.
Yet for an instant Connie appeared not to understand him and leaned forward further, proffering the letters until, as seemed inevitable, they slipped from her grasp and cascaded down on to the carpet, forming a small paper puddle at her feet. She swore and knelt down to gather them up again.
Nathan felt a curious sensation of déjà vu. He didnt move. He remained seated. He wanted nothing to do with these papers. They contained more secrets, more facts, and hed had enough of secrets and facts in the past. A gutful. Connie picked up the letters and then surreptitiously included among their number the tantalizing slip of paper. She glanced over at him as she did so. Nathan seemed in another world. He was unfocused. He didnt appear to notice. She stuffed the letters back into her bag and then smiled, the very image of angel-innocence.
That wasnt Ronnys hand, Nathan offered, eventually.
Pardon? Her smile froze.
I said that wasnt Ronnys writing on those letters.
Oh, she exhaled her relief, I know.
But you said they were his.
I meant that they were written to him.
By your father?
No. I dont really understand how it was that Dad ended up with them. The letters were actually from Ronnys friend, Monica.
Connie scanned Nathans face when she used Monicas name for any sign of recognition. She detected none. His face was soft and sweet, whiskery and gingery. She put her hand into the pocket of the jacket she wore. She drew out a business card. It said: CONSTANCE SUMACH, OPTICIAN. Underneath was an address in Gravesend.
Here.
She stood up and offered Nathan the card, but he didnt reach out his hand to take it so she laid it down on the nearest flat surface; a cardboard box which was propped like an apprentice side-table next to the sofa. Then she took hold of her bag.
Nathan stood up too. He wasnt a tall man but by comparison Connie seemed tiny. A porcelain figure. A little Dresden shepherdess. And yet she was bold, he realized. He respected that quality. He accompanied her, without speaking, downstairs and out of his flat.
Are you working? she asked, just before taking her leave of him, only I called round during the day last week and you were out.
Nathan nodded. I work for the London Underground.
Really? She seemed interested.
Im in Lost Property.
Connie grinned. That seems fitting.
Nathan had idly noticed that Connie was glowing again. She was brightly painted. She glimmered.
Fitting? he said. How?
I dont know. I suppose its slightlyuh
She knew what she wanted to say but she held it in. She backed off. She waved, suddenly jaunty. Nathan watched her as she walked down the road, searched for her keys, drew them from her bag and opened the door to a Renault Clio. Metallic blue. Shed been parked on a single yellow line and yet shed not picked up a ticket.
She was very lucky. Not just a pretty face, either, Nathan told himself. She had the sharp eyes of an optician. She had a magpies eyes. Nathan smiled sourly to himself, because, although it was of very little consequence, so did he.
And that was ironic.
Eleven
Lily couldnt resist.
WOTCHA!
Ronny looked up. He stared at her. She was pumpkin-faced. She was an essential, a delectable product of this godforsaken place. Shed just skidded to a halt on her bike and had sprayed a fine mist of grit all over him. Shed hit the corner of his shell display. He wasnt angry.
What are you doing? she asked, smirking.
Im laying out these shells.
Why?
Because I am.
What kind of an answer is that?
Ronny rocked back on to his heels.
Youre the girl who jumped into the sea, he said, smiling. This gentle spar took Lily by surprise.
Howd you know?
I guessed.
Howd you guess?
Ronny smiled some more.
Why are you smiling?
Because you have a dirty neck.
What? Lily was offended. She felt her neck with her hand. Ronny watched this cheerfully and seemed not to notice the offence hed given. He said, I spoke to the fat man who smells of fish. He said you jumped into the sea. He didnt know why. Jim said you were dirty. He was right.
Lily was all the more affronted. She glowered. Shed momentarily lost her pip. Ronny scratched his beard. I thought maybe you were cleaning off.
Cleaning off? You bastard! Who the fuck are you?
Ronny.
Lily didnt listen. Dirty. How dare he! She touched her neck again.
Its a fucking tan, she said angrily, I tan dirty.
Ronny shrugged.
You dont believe me?!
Lily was raging. Tears brimmed on her lower lids like two iridescent souffles. She took several deep breaths. Ronny eventually apprehended her distress, but not quickly enough, she felt.
Whats wrong?
Ronny shrugged.
You dont believe me?!
Lily was raging. Tears brimmed on her lower lids like two iridescent souffles. She took several deep breaths. Ronny eventually apprehended her distress, but not quickly enough, she felt.
Whats wrong?
Whats wrong? A total fucking stranger tells me Im dirty and then asks me whats wrong?
Ronny yanked at his beard. Did I say you were dirty? If I remember rightly it was Jim who said you were dirty and then the fish man, Luke, who agreed with him. I dont think I said you were dirty. But if I did then it was rude of me and Im sorry.